


A Cottage by the Sea

by snowbellewells



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbellewells/pseuds/snowbellewells
Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan
Comments: 45
Kudos: 44
Collections: Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go!! My first @cssns entry of the summer. I hope that those who were expecting two simple one shots from me in the event this year, won’t be too upset that I ended up with a different fic than I intended to start out with - one that will probably have at least four more parts to it. My original idea just would not work, so I pulled out this headcanon that I’d been mulling over for some time...and it simply grew from there. Here in the Prologue, it’s going to seem more straightforward Lieutenant Duckling, Enchanted Forest au, but the supernatural elements will come if you stick with me. My intention is to update every other Tuesday until this story is ended; meaning you should have Part One on June 23rd.
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy - and I’d love to hear what you think of this first part...

The land around her parents’ castle had always called to Princess Emma. The open spaces and craggy cliffs she could see in the distance as they plummeted into the churning sea, were windswept and wild much like herself. Though she had always been cared for and beloved, the sole heir to the kingdom of Queen Snow White, Emma also felt the desire to run free, as if she were destined for more than curtsies, crown fittings, and learning to smile demurely. Naturally, she adored her happily devoted, perfectly paired father and mother - just more so when they were teaching her to ride or aim a bow than when they were reminding her once again that she must exude patience and diplomacy at even the most interminable state dinners. She valued her kingdom and its people, understood the honor of her role in it, but that knowledge and affection failed to negate the fact that she often wished just as strongly to rip the fancy curled updos and jeweled tiaras from her head and run streaking like a loosed cannon along the wet sand at the ocean shore she could see from her chamber window, hair streaming behind her and cool, salty air on her face. All the proper princess etiquette and worries left behind.

The easiest - and her most favored - cure for that feeling of wanderlust and burning energy within was for either her mother or her father, or both whenever possible, to take her walking along the water’s edge in the evening. Emma would almost swear the Queen and King enjoyed the calming getaways almost as much as she did, both as a moment to be free of so many fussing, crowding, obsequious attendants and hangers-on, as well as to feel the open air of the world outside their palace cleansing them. She knew - though from nothing more than history and bedtime stories - that her parents had once lived and thrived out of doors, falling in love on the run as rebels before her mother regained the kingdom she had been born to lead. Both her mother, once a legendary bandit, and her father, who had started life as a humble shepherd, seemed to appreciate the chance to escape the castle walls of stone and venture out on their own with their adored and wild-hearted little girl. It concerned neither of them that Emma was bold and adventurous, bucking the traditional prim and dainty image of feminine royalty; in fact, they might have treasured those traits in her even more for how they harkened to what each loved most in the other.

One such evening, however, Queen Snow had been kept well into the twilight hour in a council meeting over trade routes and revenue, along with Emma’s father, and even Red, her godmother. Waiting impatiently, Emma fretted that she wouldn’t get outdoors and down to the shore at all, as she sat in the wide, cozy window seat of her tower room, looking out over the waves crashing up on the sands. She took in the lights of ships in their harbor, the mist and waves, and she longed to be closer - to be part of it all. In fact, she was mischievously contemplating whether or not she could scale down the outer walls in her nightdress and robe, and get to her usual walking course alone without being detected, when the door to her room opened behind her.

Snow White entered in a pleasantly flushed bluster of activity. Charming followed her with an indulgent smile, happily sweeping his daughter up into his arms as she ran to him in an excited blonde blur. She might be nearly 10-years-old, but he could still swing her up in his arms and twirl her through the air and all around the room as easily as he did when she was but a babe. Giggling happily, Emma threw her arms around her Papa’s neck and revelled in the exuberant joy of his affection.

When he put her down again, she immediately hopped around him excitedly tugging on his hand. “Can we go out for our walk now, please? Down by the shore… can we? Can we, pleeease?”

The King shook his head with a rueful chuckle, having known this would be her request the moment they set foot in their daughter’s room. She was made for the out-of-doors, an enchanting sprite of waves and sky, and he found it nigh as impossible as ever to disappoint her if her wish was within his power. “You’ll have to ask your mother this time, Sweetheart. I have more meetings, stores to check for the winter, applicants for aid to hear, a few more hours of work this evening yet.”

Snow smiled at him over Emma’s tousled blond head, nodded her agreement to a short jaunt while there was still light, Emma squealed with glee and danced an excited little jig before scampering toward the door, pulling at her mother’s hand impatiently, determined to hurry her along, Queen or no.

“You and Granny had better have cocoa and biscuits waiting for us when we return, Charming,” the dark-haired monarch grumbled, appearing stern, but the playful spark in her eyes told her husband she wasn’t really that upset. He was assuring they had what was needed for charitable giving to those less fortunate throughout the kingdom once harvests were over for the season; it would take but a moment to let the head palace cook know his wife’s wishes before continuing with his tasks.

“Anything for you, Dear,” he playfully mock-bowed before happily accepting a sweet kiss on the cheek and following his wife and daughter from the room. He was off in one direction; Marco and Jiminy both waiting down the hall to help him judge numbers, ask questions, and take notes, while Emma and Snow went in the other, headed down the stairs to the first floor side entrance and quickest path to the shore Emma was so anxious to reach. Charming supposed that many might think it strange he was not more troubled by letting his beloved and his only child wander outside the grounds alone, but his Queen could more than take care of herself. And if he knew Snow’s trusted bodyguard at all, the Huntsman they had long ago freed from Snow’s stepmother’s control, he would not be far if they had need of him when David could not accompany them - whether he was in view or not.

~~***~~

They were hand in hand, Emma’s shoes in her mother’s grip, as she skipped with exuberant satisfaction at her side, toes squidging with the exquisite feel of the wet grains of sand as she did. It was all Emma had wanted all day, from the moment she’d gotten dressed and shared breakfast with her parents and godmother, informal as they had no visitors in the warm, cozy castle kitchens. Throughout her interminable etiquette lessons with the Blue Fairy, and studying with her tutors, she had wanted nothing more than to be carefree by the water like this, and she was beside herself with excitement to be there at last.

Ruffling her daughter’s hair, Snow let the worries and concerns of meetings, treaties, budgets, and protocols slide from her shoulders while the evening breeze caressed her face. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes for a moment and laughed into the wind right along with her precious child. Perhaps she had needed the escape just as much.

Then, with a sharp jerk, Emma’s smaller hand tugged from hers with a cry of surprise. “Mama, look there!” she called, her fingers slipping from her mother’s grasp as she began to pelt across the sand in alarm. “A boy! A boy just came out of the water! He’s hurt!”

Immediately, Snow White’s focus was sharp, snapping back into full awareness, scanning ahead of them to where she saw a dark, bedraggled shape, not much larger than Emma, lying on the lighter colored beach. Emma had run forward in such concern that she had already almost reached the small shape, and her mother quickly gathered up her skirts and jogged forward to catch her, not sure yet what to expect. “Emma! Wait! Be careful!” she warned, though she already knew the caution would fall on deaf ears. Emma was fearless for her own safety, and had a soft spot for any person or thing injured or in need; she wouldn’t be stopping if she thought she could help.

Nearing the indeed soaked, disheveled, and unconscious child, Emma had already fallen to her knees, trying to shake and urge the unknown person back to awareness. The queen’s concern for her daughter’s safety instantly melted into compassion for the waif who didn’t move, didn’t speak, and barely seemed to breathe. For a child of his seeming height, he was frighteningly thin, his clothing threadbare and torn, hair too long, nearly hiding his closed eyes as soaked to his skin as it was. The Queen’s maternal heart ached for him, wondering how he came to be in such a state, alone and washed up from the sea. Taking Emma’s hand to stop her jostling him, Queen Snow could only hope they weren’t too late to save this mere boy’s life. It was only just beginning.

She looked up, wondering how they could get him back to the castle and trying to gauge how far they had traveled from the gates. Just as she was vaguely considering whether or not she could call one of the birds she was able to use as messengers - a gift that had served her often throughout life - when a tall shadow materialized from the woods bordering the shore, before she even needed to call out. Her long time bodyguard, Graham, Snow realized with easy relief; she should have known he would not be far, and regardless of the necessity - or lack thereof - in this moment she was glad he was there. This child needed help, and they needed to get him to a physician as soon as possible.

The Huntsman scooped the still-motionless boy up easily and began to carry him back the way they had come. Snow and Emma hovered on either side in anxious worry. As soon as they got him home to safety, they  _ would _ bring him around.  _ They had to. _ They had to have found him for a reason.

~~***~~

Once the unknown boy had been carried back to the castle, his slight form hardly causing the Huntsman to strain himself, bundled down before the warm hearthfire of the kitchens, boneless still, but changed from his wet rags into a old castoff tunic of the King’s (long enough to be a nightshirt on the lanky youth) and covered in numerous blankets, it took little time for the youth to come back to himself. 

Emma hovered anxiously next to the little stranger she had found, feeling oddly protective of “her boy” as she was already thinking of him in her head. She only paused in her agitated fidgeting to briefly take a cup of cocoa for herself and return the supportive hand squeeze offered her by their friend Red, Granny’s actual granddaughter and Emma’s frequent babysitter and playmate as well as her godmother.

Of course, Doc, the castle’s rather unofficial physician, had been sent for upon their return, but as the child before them began to stir of his own accord, Emma let herself hope that it would prove a mere precaution and their charge would be just fine. Heavy-lidded eyes blinked open slowly, as if still weary and reluctant to revive. When finally the thick, dark lashes parted to reveal rather stunning, unbelievably sea-blue eyes, Emma gasped at the shock that ran through her. Even as the boy’s widened in equal surprise and alarm, his eyes fixed on her gaze for several endless moments before darting around his surroundings, clearly unsure where he was or what had happened.

“Shh…. sh… hush now…” Emma felt her own tense muscles loosen as her mother’s voice calmly bathed the scene in gentle comfort. The Queen, soft and careful, and looking for all the world in that moment just like any other mother hoping to reassure her frightened child, stooped down to eye level with the boy they had propped up in a heaping nest of pillows and quilts by the fire. She reached out to softly brush his dark hair off his forehead, but froze when the boy flinched back like a startled animal. Instead, she only added in the same low, sweet croon. “You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you… It’s alright now.”

The youngster’s eyes continued to cast about him for several tense moments, but then he seemed to finally register the calm surrounding him and accept that he would be alright. The tentatively crooked smile he offered back to the Queen sparked a bit of hope in all who were gathered around him. And when a steaming cup of cocoa was pressed into his hands by Granny with a brusque but concerned admonishment to “drink up, it’ll warm your insides” before the cook bustled off again, he seemed to come back to himself even more at the scent which wafted up into his face of chocolate and their family’s customary hint of cinnamon.

Emma could practically see interest light up those expressive eyes, but the child hesitated rather than bringing the cup to his lips for a taste. Darting from Queen to Princess uncertainly, he seemed to be gauging whether or not it was truly acceptable for him to take a drink.

“Go ahead,” Emma urged, smiling in what she hoped was reassurance. She wasn’t known for her patience, and she couldn’t know that this youth had never experienced hot cocoa, nor many pleasant treats at all, in his young life. Hoping to encourage him, she lifted her own mug to drink and then smacked her lips at the delightful taste, making Ruby laugh and her mother shake her head at her dreadful table manners. The boy’s face, however, lit with a bit of humor and happiness that it had not yet held. “It’s good, I promise,” Emma added with a grin. “You’ll like it.”

Almost as if he could resist no longer, the boy tipped his cup and took a sip of the warm, rich beverage at last. Then, it seemed he discovered the powers of liquid chocolate that everyone else in the room well knew. His eyes widened in delight, and he tipped his head back to get every last drop as he quickly guzzled down the rest, making Emma giggle, and him startle guiltily as if he’d done something wrong.

“Don’t worry,” Emma assured, reaching out innocently to lay her hand on his, “You can have some more, right Mama?”

Queen Snow White’s eyes were a bit misty with unshed tears, having already met Granny’s gaze over Emma’s head and Ruby’s as well, the three women piecing together things Emma in her sheltered, loving world could not yet know about what this youngster must have gone through. His reactions and his guardedness spoke volumes, even in silence. Nodding simply, not sure at first that she could speak around the painful lump in her throat, Snow finally managed to agree, “Yes, for tonight at least, our new friend may have all the hot cocoa his heart desires.”

~~***~~

The boy’s name, it turned out, was Killian Jones. He did recall that much once he regained his bearings, as well as the fact that he had possessed a father, mother, and older brother in a happy little house before his mother had seemingly vanished from his young life, and they had sent sail on the boat he had been on before washing ashore. No matter how many questions they asked or how he tried to call more forth, he remembered little else of what happened to his mother or father. He knew he had been told she fell ill and died, but all he could bring forth in his mind’s eye was that one morning he had awakened and she had vanished from his life as if she never existed at all - just a pleasant dream. His elder brother Liam had been on the boat with him, and Killian had shed tears that broke all their hearts when he recalled the day his brother had been swept overboard and lost to him forever. But as to what had become of his father, and how he had been sentenced to the life of hard labor he had clearly endured afterward, there was nothing but a blank and questions.

As days and weeks, then months, and finally years went by, he remained with them at Misthaven castle. Though far from a young prince, Killian was raised as a member of the royal household, growing up side-by-side with Princess Emma. They appeared to be quite close in age, and joined by the fact that she had found him and seemed to take Killian on as her own, he and Emma were quite inseparable - the best of friends and as “thick as thieves” as Granny always lamented when they were underfoot or stealing berries meant for tarts and pies on the royal dinner table.

As they reached adolescence, the King and Queen began to wonder where Kilian would be happiest as he came of age. The young man they had come to adore almost as a son had several skills: he was invaluable in the stables, exuding a calming force over the horses and evincing a knack for their training and care; he was quite good as an extra hand in the kitchen when Granny was understaffed or had more visiting mouths than usual to feed (for all her tough talk the aging widow had a soft spot for the boy and would no doubt have mentored him as a cook). Killian was bright; genuine knowledge and curiosity made him a voracious reader and student, honestly gaining more from the princess’ many esteemed tutors than Emma ever had and enjoying the study much more. He would have been easy to train as a page or diplomat, but none of those options seemed quite right.

It was not until his fifteenth birthday that the way Killian hoped to take became clear. It might have seemed improbable to most, knowing that the sea had once nearly swallowed him whole and claimed his life, but to Emma who knew him better than anyone else, it made sense. Those restless, wandering waves held an appeal, a mystery and adventure, and perhaps even still some bit of himself that her friend needed to claim. He stated his intention to join her father’s Navy with a proud certainty. And Emma’s heart swelled with equal gratification, but also fear. The sea had given him to her, but it wanted to take him back again…

It had taken them all such a long time to show Killian that he was welcome there, truly a part of their loving extended family. At first, Killian had shrunk back - shoulders hunched, head bowed, breath coming quickly in frightened pants - any time he might accidentally drop and break a dish or he reached for a second roll at the table, making it clear was that he had been punished and berated, to the point that he cowered like a whipped dog whenever he feared he might have put even a toe out of line. Princess Emma knew that her parents suspected beatings and physical abuse; it was clear in the concerned way their eyes met in silent communication whenever Killian reacted with the intense fear and apology he often showed in his bearing; she sadly had to agree that they were quite probably correct. She shuddered to think of how he might still be suffering under some cruel captain’s mistreatment, miserable, stranded and helpless to change his situation if it had not been for the shipwreck which brought him to Misthaven instead. There had been no question for any of them that he must stay, when they had learned of his indenture and how he had been orphaned and abandoned. She couldn’t have been more glad that all in the castle were in agreement; Emma had already decided that “her boy” needed to stay there with them, where he was safe and she could be sure he was happy and free. Neither of them were small children anymore, but Emma’s care and affection for him had never changed.

For so long before Killian’s arrival, she had been the only child in a palace of grown-ups: rulers, dignitaries, staff - a whole caravan of people who doted and adored, but very few who could be peers, to play with, talk to, and simply understand her. As the days had flowed into one another, turning into months and years until most people could hardly remember when she and Killian were not linked, they were practically siblings in every way that mattered. The princess knew that she didn’t intend to live - not could she imagine - her life without him ever again.

And then, seemingly in the mere blink of an eye, they were fifteen and moving from playing tag amongst the grape arbors and lilac bushes in her mother’s gardens and slipping out of the interminable poise and etiquette lessons which Emma detested yet was never allowed to miss, to the stage where Killian was serving as her partner while she learned the waltz and other ballroom dances she would need to master for formal balls and ceremonies. Not only that, but as they edged into adolescence, Emma’s heart thumped against her chest differently than it used to as Killian led her gracefully through the steps. Even as her heart seemed ready to ricochet from her body, the warmth of Killian’s skin where they touched and the utter safety she felt in his hold half intoxicated her. As awareness spun her head round, uncertain what to do with it or how to proceed with these strange new feelings suddenly flooding her, all Emma could be certain of was the pang of loss she felt at knowing that Killian’s desire was to soon join her father’s naval fleet. At fifteen, he was at last of age to sail as a cabin boy and begin to work his way up in a ship’s ranks. Though she knew that had long been her friend’s desired course, Emma’s heart still ached to see him go.

However, her parents could not deny him the chance to seek such a worthy ambition. Indeed, they were proud of Killian, happy to help him secure a place on one of their finest vessels and make certain he knew their confidence in him and their faith that he would succeed. All too soon, after years with him at her side, it was the day Emma’s confidant and companion was set to sail on his first voyage. Though she knew in her head that the kingdom was in a time of peace and that it was a mere routine mission, her heart could not ignore the fact that sea travel always came with risk. Not only that, but she would miss Killian terribly.

Still, goodbyes had been said, all was made ready, and she was left on the dock, waving goodbye as the best friend she had ever known met her eyes and waved back. His pretty blue eyes, that had long since begun to speak to her as ardently as his actual words, expressed a potent blend of pained anxiety at leaving his adopted family and the life he had known and excitement for the adventure ahead on the waves that stirred his blood. She stood there long after the rest of the crowd seeing him off had dispersed and gone back to the castle, watching as the naval ship bearing “her boy” (as she sometimes still in the deepest and most secret depths of her heart thought of him) became a small dot on the horizon before fading from view entirely. 

And only then had the journey truly begun...


	2. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, here’s Part One of “A Cottage by the Sea”, my CSSNS20 Enchanted Forest AU! Thank you SO much to those who have sent comments and offered enthusiasm for the Prologue of this one; I hope you’ll enjoy this continuation and keep going on the journey with me. There’s absolutely more Lieutenant Duckling development here, but I’ll have to beg your patience as the supernatural elements of this still aren’t going to show up much until Part Two. 

**_Part One_ **

_ Three years later... _

Morning dawned on the day Killian Jones was to set sail once more - for his first long distance voyage as lieutenant, much as it had done every other morn of his young life so far. Granted, that included many of those years he could not fully recall, but the sky streaked in radiant hues of pink and orange drove troubled thoughts from mind in his excitement to set out on his chosen course. At last he would be moving toward his goal: a ship of his own, a captaincy in King David and Queen Snow’s Navy, and a position that gave him the right to court the woman he loved - in truth, his soulmate - and seek her hand in marriage.

It was true he had not yet spoken those words aloud to anyone. Princess Emma, who had found him alone and washed up on the beach like forgotten detritus so long ago now, but had never treated him as such, had never treated him as anything less than family and a cherished companion, had no idea how his regard had changed. He could not yet bring himself to speak the desires of his heart to her - not when he was an orphan without name, station, or profession. She was the Crown Princess and sole heir to the monarchy of Misthaven. He must first have something to offer her, make something of himself, even if he knew she would argue with such a line of thinking. His will was no less resolved.

Granted, this would not be the first time he had shipped off on a naval excursion. Since the day he had turned fifteen, old enough to attend the naval academy along with his studies at Emma’s side, he had takend every opportunity to embark on short voyages with openings - first as a cabin boy learning the basics, and then as a quickly promoted ensign, which he had just a week prior followed with the award of a lieutenant ranking. Even if only to appease his own sense of duty and honor, he wished to serve the royal family who had given him a home and place to belong, and to feel himself worthy if he could ever bring himself to share his true heart’s desire with his love.

He was standing at his bureau, struggling to flatten the stubborn cowlicks always determined to stand up from the back of his head, when there was a short impatient knock, Emma’s voice calling out, “I hope you’re decent! It’s me!” and then his door burst open to reveal the lovely focus of his thoughts.

Emma’s blonde hair was a soft, wild cloud of gold about her head, mussed and unbound as if she had been running completely wild all morning, and if Killian had not been so utterly startled and flummoxed by her sudden appearance in his charmber, he might have laughed at the way he could just imagine his foster mother of sorts, the Queen, shaking her head in affectionate exasperation at her daughter’s less than polished care for her appearance. As it was, he gaped wide-eyed, in a sort of frozen trance as she stumbled to a halt just over the threshold, her cheeks, which had shown just a slight flush of exertion, going bright red and spreading over her neck and collarbones appealingly, making Killian’s unbidden mind wonder uninvited if every inch of her skin turned red when she was embarrassed and just how fetching that look might be. Squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head futilely in an attempt to clear such an improper vision from his inner eye, he had to gulp down several breaths before managing to croak out, “Emma, you’re here! I thought we were meeting in the main hall?”

She blinked back at him wordlessly, seeming to have a bit of trouble in finding words herself. Her liquid green eyes, so pure and bright Killian had often thought they looked like two jewels plucked from the richest treasure trove and set with the exquisite frame of her perfect face, seemed to sparkle and glow even more than usual, if a bit dazed by the sight before her. “Oh...I… uh… that is…” she stumbled gracelessly, bringing a bit of teasing humor back into Killian’s bearing where he had been fighting his own nervous embarrassment at being caught half-dressed and unprepared for her arrival. “I mean,” she finally managed to steady her voice a bit and carry on more clearly, “you are probably right. I just couldn’t wait any longer. I truly believe you might sometimes take longer to present yourself and get ready than I do. And besides…” she paused again, looking down at fidgeting hands and catching her lower lip between her teeth as she hesitated. “I wanted a moment with you all to myself - without everyone else hovering - before you left.”

Killian didn’t quite know how to respond to his princess’ admission - not that he ever minded being near Emma, however it came to be. Yet, it did not seem right to remind her that he was at her beck and call whenever she might wish. She was the one whose days were so often consumed of late; from breakfast until long past sundown at times, helping her parents more and more with royal duties as they strove to prepare her to someday take the throne herself, and also to introduce her to all the young princes and nobles of their acquaintance - not wanting to see her take up such a heavy mantle alone. He often tried not to think of those parts of her parents’ efforts for their daughter’s future. Neither of her loving parents would force her to marry where she harbored no feeling; they cherished True Love too much ever to keep their only child from finding the same. And yet, Killian couldn’t help but be glad when he found himself out at sea at the time royal balls and state dinners were held back in his adopted homeland. Seeing young Viscount Booth attempt to charm Emma with sweet, flirtatious talk at the banquet table and luring her in with whispered jokes and party tricks stole his appetite every time. And watching while Prince Baelfire of the Golden Coast placed his hands a bit too low on his princess’ waist as he swept her into reels and waltzes - more dances together at once than were considered acceptable - it was all he could do not to storm over and cut in before things could escalate, or the blush on Emma’s cheeks was determined to be of certain pleasure rather than mere flattery or humored politeness.

Something told him that none of this was at all what Emma wished to discuss. Could it be possible that she had some unspoken feeling for him she wished to express as well? Had he not been alone in his attention as he watched from the sidelines, sure she was meeting a better match than he each time? Had she instead been watching him as well?

It seemed nearly impossible to consider, and yet he held his breath, not wanting to do anything which might shatter the moment as Emma began to cross the room toward him on silent feet, her eyes never leaving his. 

When she at last came within arm’s reach, she gently reached out her hand, fingers lightly brushing over his shoulderblade. The barest contact caused a frisson of electricity to shiver along his skin, awareness that it was Emma touching him with such delicacy affecting him beyond his power to control. At least until a sobering thought crept beneath the sensation.

At the moment she had entered his room, he had stood with his back to the door, and while he had twisted partially round to see who had burst in, he realized in clarity that froze him in an entirely different way that Emma was getting her first unobscured view of the scarred expanse of his shoulders and back she’d had since they were children, before she would have known what the marks left behind meant. He himself barely remembered the details of how they had been administered, but he knew they were unsightly - troubling, at best - the jagged criss cross of lines, some faded almost white and others still an angry red despite having been long healed. He knew before she spoke that her touch, which a moment ago had felt like Heaven, was prelude to questions he could not fully answer nor wish to discuss.

“K- Killian?” Emma whispered, her featherlight touch so gentle he wanted to shudder at the feel of it. She was tracing the darkest welt of the long ago lash that seemed to curl around his left shoulderblade down to his ribs. “What is this? Were you…” she swallowed as if forcing herself to say it. “Were you whipped?”

“Aye,” he grit out, anxious to pull away, don his shirt - though much too late to do any good - and hide it away once more. “It would seem so, though the memory of it is no more really than fragments and flashes. Not much else would leave behind that sort of damage.”

She shook her head, as if refusing to conceive what the evidence meant. “But you were so young when you washed ashore. No one here in Misthaven would dare.” She fumbled through her dawning comprehension, chin trembling, and bright eyes filling with tears that began to spill over silently. “That someone would lash a boy so young, mistreat him so horribly. It’s despicable. Oh, Killian…”

Her fingers shook as she made to smooth them along his skin once more. But in his shame and agitation, a flare of defensive anger went through him and he jerked away from her touch. Her words and tone felt all too much like pity, reminding him of the fear and doubt that occasionally - in his weakest moments - whispered to him that he had always been some foundling the Princess pitied, a charity case she had taken on as her own. He knew better; Emma had been his dearest friend, closer even than a sister, since the day they met. But the flood of conflict within was too much in that moment. Chest heaving, eyes stormy, he put several steps between them and shrugged his shirt on fully before facing her again.

“I don’t need your sympathy!” he hissed, not sure what had suddenly made him so angry, only that he was. The last thing he wanted to seem was needy and pathetic in her eyes, not when he was so desperate to prove himself strong, capable and worthy.

Emma’s glittering eyes went from teary to flashing with spite of their own in seconds, flinching back as if his words could physically strike her. “You ungrateful arse!” she seethed, looking for all the world as if it were the worst curse she could think of to fling back at him. The tenderness that had so affected him moments ago was gone, but all he could focus on was that the pitying look had fled as well. “Forgive me for caring!”

“Oh aye, you care alright,” he continued, not sure what was making such vitriol spew forth from his lips - and at Emma, of all people - but he couldn’t seem to stop it. It was as though all his worst fears about why she had stayed by him all these years, and why her family had ever taken him in to begin with, were finally spilling out into the open and demanding answers. “Your little project is hurt, and so you swoop in to the rescue.”

His fiery princess was shaking her head now, almost in denial; her hands fisted at her side, trembling in fury, even as those tears that had gathered in concern now poured down her cheeks in frustrated anger. “How  _ dare _ you?” she spat, stepping up to be toe-to-toe with him once more. “You know it isn’t like that...don’t you?”

And just like that all the fire and fight drained from him at the lost quality of her question, the pained uncertainty in her voice as she searched his face for the truth. Once again, that soft, open, lovely face that he knew as well as his own - better, even - was his undoing. He couldn’t bear the hurt in her expression, the worried furrow in her brow, the pinched little bow her rosebud lips had become, knowing that he had been the cause. A bone-deep sigh rattled up from his chest, his raised shoulders falling. Dipping his head to catch her crestfallen gaze, Killian placed a gentle finger beneath her lowered chin, tilting her face up once more as he wet his lips and struggled for an apology that would suffice. He didn’t miss the way her eyes followed the path of his tongue across his lower lip or the increased flutter of her pulse, but - though it gave him hope - it was not the time to catalogue such responses.

“Emma, I’m sorry,” he finally offered simply. “Of course I know your care is genuine. You have been my best friend all these years - ever since you found me - and have given me no reason to doubt you. My own doubt and insecurity got the best of me. I did not wish for you to see what was done long ago and feel sorry for me. Not when I’m trying…” he swallowed hard, realizing he had reached the point of baring his soul, and knowing he needed to do so - both to help her understand his overreaction just then, and to leave with his heart at peace when he set sail that evening. “Not when,” he continued as steadily as he could manage, “I hope to prove my mettle, my strength and courage to the kingdom and to myself. I hope to return a decorated lieutenant, worthy - if you’ll have me - to seek your hand and court you properly.”

His princess’ eyes widened at his words, her mouth opening on a sharp, indrawn breath. She did not look shocked - perhaps she had guessed at his feelings already? - but the hope lit up across her face was magnificent to behold. “Truly, Killian?” she whispered, her voice soft and gentle as if she couldn’t bear to alter the air around them after such a declaration. She nodded rapidly, biting her lip against a few more renegade tears, though these were welcome emblems of joy. “Of course I would have you as a suitor. I have wished for it and hoped you might feel the same. I… I barged in here this morning hoping to confess just that to you before you left.”

Once more, she touched him tentatively, one trembling hand resting lightly on his shoulder as the other came up to cup his cheek. “You are already more than worthy. I have met no one as suited to me as you - nor will I ever. You have nothing to prove, Killian. Not to me, or my parents, or even this kingdom…”she paused, drawing a fortifying breath before capturing his gaze once more. “Yet I know you well enough to understand there is something yet your soul must seek, some answer you wish to find. Just know that I will be waiting here when you return, ready to accept your courtship with open arms.”

Killian’s eyes fell closed for a moment, his forehead coming to rest with hers as he tried to absorb the swirl of emotions welling between them. After all his yearning to set out, his preparation and his wondering, he wanted nothing more than to stay there with Emma. She tilted her face up to meet his as he lowered his mouth to hers, seeking just one first kiss to carry with him. As their lips met, a warmth suffused him, at once everything and more than he had dreamed, and like nothing he could have expected. Emma was all sweetness and light as she hummed lowly in the back of her throat, opening to him as the hand at his cheek trailed back to toy deliciously in the hair at the nape of his neck. Everything else faded away for a few precious, blissful moments, before he forced himself to pull away, breathless.

Emma stumbled forward, lips still seeking his own, dazed and pliant and blinking up at him curiously. 

With agonizing effort, Killian shook his head, against the desire to surge forward, capture her mouth again, press her up against the nearest flat surface, and let their explorations run free. He was meant to be proving his honor, not losing it. Chest heaving, he brushed his thumb along those tantalizing lips, but then pressed a kiss to her forehead rather than diving back into temptation. He meant instead to seal a promise. “Emma, my heart, I love you. Perhaps I always have, before I even knew what those words meant. To know we understand each other is a blessing I had barely hoped for.”

Here he pulled her into his embrace, her arms immediately wrapping around him as well and her golden head nestling against his chest. Remaining like that for several quiet minutes, he could only hope and pray that the bond they had forged, the shared feelings would see them through this temporary parting. If she loved him too, then it was easy to have faith. “Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you,” he murmured softly in her ear, a secret promise for her alone to keep.

Smiling up at him, a pleased, teasing quirk to one side of her grin, his princess replied. “Seeing as I feel the same for you, that is very good indeed.”

~~***~~

Several weeks later, the voyage underway and well out at sea, Killian Jones still carried that moment with him, never far from the forefront of his mind. They were days yet from Agrabah, but making good time and so far had experienced smooth sailing. Their neighbor to the South had long been an ally, despite the distance between their two countries, and Killian relished seeing once more the arid land with air full of desert heat and exotic spices. He had just begun as a cabin boy the last time he had visited - and all of the sights there had seemed unimaginable wonders. Though none had meant any true harm, the older sailors had certainly been entertained by his wide-eyed gaping at the open air markets, the monkeys and brightly colored parrots, the endless expanse of sand, and the Sultan’s palace rising up from it with its stunning domed top that seemed made of pure gold. He’d been barely sixteen, and blushed furiously at the different manner of dress - the first harem girl that had brushed by him in the market, dark-lashed eyes blinking up at him and gauzy fabric of her attire more than a bit transparent despite the draped layers, had nearly made him swallow his tongue, blushing to the very tips of his ears as his crewmates hooted with raucous laughter and slapped him on the back hard enough to knock him over.

Still, despite those rather awkward moments he had enjoyed seeing a place so different from Misthaven’s forests and hills and rocky beaches. He tried to store up every detail to describe for Emma upon his return. She very much wished to see the kingdom for herself, but due to the distance and time involved in making the journey, it was not as yet a trip she had been allowed to embark upon. It seemed that several years ago at some diplomatic summit or gathering of numerous royals she had met and bonded with the Agrabahn princess - Jasmine. The two had exchanged correspondence ever since, courtesy of the Queen’s message birds, and they had much in common. Though Killian had only seen this Jasmine from a distance, Emma swore that she was a funny and bright soul who longed for adventure and excitement, and to make her own way in her world, not merely to be a demure ornament on a throne; indeed, much as his own beloved princess desired. Even now, Killian bore a message from Emma to the future Sultana with him, as they would be visiting and bringing gifts to the royal family upon their arrival.

He was looking out over the horizon as it darkened toward evening, mulling over the fact that Emma need not worry about being a mere figurehead or failing to make an impact in her future rule. Already she touched any life she came in contact with; her warmth and the goodness of her heart were unmistakable, her beauty was praised the kingdom over, and all who encountered her spoke of how like her mother and father she was - without airs, hard-working, dedicated in her caring compassion. She had long since marked his life for the better irrevocably with her kindness.

Killian’s musings were abruptly stopped however, as he registered just how rapidly the darkness before him was falling over the waves. Where the sea had been calm, the wind was now whipping up, the swells choppy, and the boat beginning to rock wildly up and down so much so that Killian had to clutch the railing for dear life to keep his feet. Most of the crew had gone below for the evening meal, but he could already hear alarmed yelling and feet pounding back up on deck as all ran to reclaim their stations against the coming storm.

Even as he took up the line to help maintain their course, a cold slide of disconcerted fear ran through Killian’s gut. The sudden shift wasn’t natural; the entire maelstrom blindsiding them when moments ago it had been sunshine and calm as far as the eye could see. It didn’t alter his fight to do his part and keep them afloat, but his heart dropped with the belief that this squall seemed almost alive, intent on dragging them to the depths. 

A wall of water rose on their left just as the ship’s bow dipped on the rocking sea beneath them. It hit the vessel broadside, dousing them all and sending many skidding over the slick wooden planks. A sickening groan could be heard even over the wailing of the gale all around and the slap of the water on all sides. Horror filled the hearts of those on board who could now see that the monstrous wave’s impact had snapped the main mast. With cries of warning and alarm, men leapt out of the way of the heavy falling beam, all but that immediate threat momentarily forgotten. 

Killian himself missed being flattened, but another sailor fell in his way as he dove to the side. Stumbling toward the siderail, he caught himself just in time, only to have the ship rock and shudder once again, rising only to have a bolt of jagged lightning flash across the blackened sky, seeming just above them.

Somehow a spark caught the whipping sails still aloft, and they were soon aflame, despite the rain and waves. They were going down, the possessed tempest beyond their ability to fight in a matter of minutes. Killian heard the Captain calling for the lifeboats, and he ran to help free the dinghies while there was still a chance to board and lower them. With every passing second, more water was rising on the deck and surely weighing them down, sinking to rise less with each rolling wave.

Unfortunately, as he focused on the wench to free the lifeboat, a flaming piece of the rigging overhead snapped and swung down from the sails, the fire and heavy weight attached catching Killian in the shoulder where he was already at the edge and sending him overboard. He hit the water hard, the cold shocking and the strength of the waves pulling him under. Fighting his way back to the surface, he was slammed against the side of the ship, the back of his head knocked hard enough to make his vision waver sickly. The others above might get the lifeboats free, but they would never survive these waves anymore than their mothership. Killian fought to stay afloat, managing to grasp a scrap of the downed mast as it swirled by.

He was being pulled further away from his ship, and it was all he could do to keep his head above water. There was no way to fight the currents back to her. Moments later though, that proved to him a blessing in disguise. Horror overcame him as suddenly, the raging waters seemed to open into a cavernous whirlpool, otherworldly and dark. His ship and all his comrades were pulled into its maw like a tiny toy boat circling a tub drain. There was no escape, and he could only watch as the whole was sucked down out of sight, the hugest wave yet crashed down after, and sailors, ship, and whirlpool were all gone with a loud, sucking finality he could hardly believe.

There was nothing left but the wind, the waves, and Killian clinging to the one shattered piece of wood beneath him, struggling to stay afloat. He had never seen or heard of a storm with such sudden and decided malevolence, as if it had blown up expressly to swallow their ship.

Unfortunately, there was little he could do about it, and the blow to the head he had taken against the ship’s hull was affecting his perception, making his movements sluggish. Fighting to cling to his makeshift raft and continue to hold his head aboe the waves grew harder and harder as shock and the cold set in. He didn’t consciously give up, but his grip loosened on the wooden board, his paddling grew lethargic, as his eyes closed and he slid beneath the water.

~~***~~

Even as he began to sink beneath the waves, Killian heard a strange sort of singing echoing through the water. No longer was the wind howling and the water slapping against his skin; instead he felt suspended and weightless, floating lower, but no longer fighting. At peace. For whatever reason, he wasn’t struggling to breathe, feeling his lungs fill and burn for air. No panic set in as he had always imagined it might if his ship were to wreck and he drowned.

A lovely song, a voice with notes that echoed beautifully in the water grew in volume and seemed to surround him with a suffused sort of light. The hazy brightness and the gentle voice encircled him, though it made no sense, and the light and comfort of it made him think of Emma. At that, he did attempt to kick back up toward the surface, hating the thought of causing her pain when he did not return to her. Yet those dulcet tones soothed him once more, and he ceased his short-lived struggle. What seemed a gentle hand, though he couldn’t see clearly or understand how it was possible smoothed across his brow.

The singing around him surged and swelled, and then he felt the grip of hands beneath his arms as he was hauled upward to the surface, at a speed he couldn’t fathom. His awareness seemed to lag, failing him again for a stretch, and then he felt the pull against him letting go and sand and pebbles beneath him. He’d reached shore. Staggering and half-crawling, he lumbered forward dazedly, enough to feel he would not be pulled back out or drowned by the tide. He fell bonelessly to the sand beneath him, his energy sapped and his consciousness wavering. Once more he was shipwrecked - a lone survivor for some reason that was beyond him.

Blindly, Killian felt someone roll him carefully onto his back, and a rich, melodious voice - the voice he had heard singing underwater - spoke sweetly at his ear. It was soothing and almost familiar as it eased him to rest. “You will be alright now, Killian. Trust me,” the voice assured him. “This will all make sense when you wake. You’re safe here.” And with that, he once more succumbed to the haze that swallowed him.


	3. Part Two

**_Part Two_ **

When Killian’s eyes opened once more, it felt as though he had been out for ages. The grit he blinked away and the painful shock that the bright sun was to his retinas had him fighting not to close them again and float back into oblivion. It took a moment for the dizziness and disorientation that pressed down on his back to subside and for his shaking arms to support pushing up to a sitting position. His skin stung and stretched with the movement when he did so, and it was only then that Killian realized he had been sprawled out prone on some deserted stretch of sand, the naval uniform he’d donned so proudly stained and torn, and any exposed skin blistered red with sunburn.

Wincing, struggling not to vomit seawater and sand back up on himself, he began to recall a bit more of what had occurred, brushing a dark, saltwater-encrusted hank of his hair off his forehead as he tried to squint against the brightness assaulting him to get the lay of the land. There had been a terrible freak storm out on the water, blowing up suddenly as if conjured especially to attack their vessel and take it down. There had been no hope of navigating such a maelstrom - in spite of their best efforts. And then, he’d gone overboard in the rising waves… there was fire… and a whirlpool… It had swallowed the ship, and all his fellow sailors, whole, right before his eyes.

Trying to take stock of himself, Killian made sure his fingers, toes, legs, arms, all extremities seemed in order, and then managed to haul himself to his feet. He staggered a bit drunkenly at first, sensing he looked a bit like the old sea dogs seen at port, past their years of crewing a vessel and often lost in their cups, but forced himself to reach the minimal shade of a palm tree nearby and leaned against its trunk heavily, catching his breath.

There wasn’t much else to take in. As far as his sight carried in either direction, he saw only the isolated beach, the sea to one side crashing against the sand in unending rhythm and a thicker stand of trees farther inland on his other. At least there was some shelter from the blistering heat, he tried to comfort himself. But no signs at all of any habitation, or any other living beings. The pounding waves, the rustling leaves overhead… and nothing else.

But wait… hadn’t there been a voice? Before, as he’d slid under the churning waves, he’d felt arms pulling him back to the surface. And there was… singing?

Killian blinked dazedly, shaking his head of such fanciful nonsense. Who would have been singing? For all he could tell, he was alone, on a deserted island. What he needed to focus on were not fevered mirages but finding some source of water, aloe for his burns if a plant could be located, and some sort of shelter before nightfall.

Heaving a sigh, the young lieutenant knew he needed to get to work if he wanted to have any sort of protection from the elements and any natives or wild animals he might encounter before nightfall. Trudging further from the crashing surf, Killian rolled up the damp and bedraggled sleeves of his white shirt, after quickly shedding the naval jacket, and tried to push aside the waterlogged fogginess of his head and the aches and pains of extremities that had been buffetted by waves and debris from the ship’s wreckage. He had more pressing concerns needing to be dealt with in short order.

Soon, he was pulling branches and underbrush to a flat spot of beach and attempting to weave them together in his best approximation of a canopy - both for shade and rain protection when he lay down to rest. He propped it up to form a sort of lean-to up the beach near the treeline using boards from the ship that had washed ashore near him. Killian tried not to focus on the fact that he saw no sign of the ship’s sails, lifeboats, or any of his fellow sailors. He knew they’d been swallowed by that unnatural whirlpool, and yet he couldn’t fully process it either. It didn’t seem possible that all other traces of the ship, the mission, and its crew had vanished in an instant, and that he was the only one left.

When finally he had what passed for a sturdy enough shelter in which to pass the night, Killian noticed while wiping sweat from his forehead that the sun was beginning its descent back down the western side of the sky. He needed to find fresh water to drink, and gather enough more brush to start a fire. By this point, his limbs were nearly numb from exertion and lack of water, but he couldn’t stop yet. He would be doomed if he lay down before accomplishing at least those two tasks. Grim determination in the fierce lines of his young face, Killian headed into the trees, in search of some stream or pool toward the island’s center. Something must support the vegetation after all.

He was too focused on the necessities before him to sense that he was being watched, though he was indeed. Kind eyes, void of malice, indeed aching to help him, if their mood could have been read, kept their distance, but yet drank in every movement and detail of the young survivor on the sand. Eyes that seemed so intent, so loving that they might never look away… and were as limitless and blue as Killian’s own.

~~***~~

At the same time, back in Misthaven, Princess Emma waited anxiously for her love’s return. Oh, she knew it might yet be some weeks before they could possibly sail to Agrabah and back - even with the fairest of winds and smooth sailing. Despite that rational knowledge however, her young heart aflutter with love newly voiced and emphatically returned couldn’t help counting the days, even the hours, until Killian’s ship made port once more, she could look upon his well-known and beloved face and fling herself into his arms.

She grinned mischeivously as soon as that image graced her mind’s eye. Killian himself would caution her not to do any such thing. He was self-assured and competent in his naval training, a confident sailor, secure in his position and satisfied that he had earned his rank among his peers. Still, much to Emma’s chagrin, he never seemed to forget that she was royalty- the sole heir to an entire kingdom - and that he was certainly not; in fact his origins were so completely unknown as to be a mystery even to him. Though the smallest quirk of his smile or wink from his eyes as they made faces behind the dance master’s back when Emma struggled with a step and he turned to demonstrate again with long-suffering sighs at the princess’ lack of natural grace, though even those tiniest of his familiar expressions could set her blood rushing and her heart to pounding, Emma knew Killian would be embarrassed if she were to be as brazen as she were tempted in her feelings for him in front of a crowd. If she really were to throw herself into his wiry, tanned arms and take the second kiss she had been dreaming of since the first ended at their parting in full public view, he would blush to the very tips of his honestly quite adorably pointed elfin ears. She had learned quickly over the years that he did not see himself as of the same standing as she and her family; no matter that he had been brought up as one of them since they found him, and her parents would no more think that way than she did, he would still fear tarnishing her standing or regard by choosing him as her match.

_ ‘Utter nonsense!’ _ Emma snorted to herself with a frustrated shake of her head, a furrow of consternation creasing her brow. She wouldn’t stand for anyone to say or think such a thing; it was one of the first topics she meant to discuss with him as soon as they were reunited. Everything had happened so quickly once they had admitted their feelings to each other; he had been ready to set sail, and after such a breathless kiss and embrace, she had been struggling to regain her wits enough to speak at all.

Even days later, Emma blushed to think of their stolen moment as she ran a comb through her hair before twisting it into a long braid for comfort while she slept. Surely the messenger bird of her mother’s would return in the morning with an answer to the missive she had sent after her lieutenant. She had kept it short, but had yearned to let him know she would think of him every second he was gone and be counting the moments to their reunion. Queen Snow’s winged couriers never failed to locate their recipients - and often within a day or two, much quicker and more reliably than any sort of human post by land or sea yet devised.

With that encouraging thought buoying her spirits, the crown princess curled up on her side under the covers with the hope that she might receive a reply in her sailor’s own hand as early as the morrow. She slept that night with a smile on her face, dreaming of a crooked, playful grin and kind eyes as blue as the ocean itself.

On the morrow, Emma rose with the sun, well rested and full of energy, her mind recalling almost immediately her hope for the day. She paused at her vanity table only long enough to pull on and belt her dressing gown over the long, silken shift in which she slept, stuff her feet into slippers, and peer out her window at the perch with food to which their messenger birds were trained to return. Even the absence of the small creature didn’t dampen her spirits; it was early yet, and the day was young.

Not until she headed downstairs to break fast with her parents and godmother did anything occur to rattle her cheerful mindset. Their morning meal opened as usual with Granny bustling around them to place fresh-baked biscuits with newly churned butter and stewed apples for topping, along with fried ham slices, before them, and they all happily tucked into the simple but delicious repast. Ruby and her mother spoke animatedly on the possibility of whether or not Graham would actually allow himself to dance with Ruby at her birthday celebration and admit the mutual infatuation which had been clear between the queen’s guard and best friend for months, or if he would continue to linger on the sidelines keeping watch, as serious and solitary as always. It seemed as though the man were still paying penance for choices made long ago leading to his enslavement and forced allegiance to Snow’s wicked stepmother before he was freed. All of that had happened years ago, before Emma was even born, but she did often sense the captain of their royal guard carried some weight on his shoulders that never lessened. He had always been kind to her, doting even, teaching her survival skills when she had been yet a child to help her in case she were ever lost in the woods, or needed to hide in nature as a place of escape. As she had grown, he had often gladly shown her techniques to better her tracking and archery when her mother could not. All the same, even when the quiet, gentle Huntsman did smile, there was a haunted sadness still clouding his eyes. Emma was contemplating that even as she met her father’s humored gaze while her mother teased Ruby that she should wear her tightest corset and brightest red gown and not give Graham a chance to deny her a turn around the dancefloor. Her godmother had winked and given them all a devious smile in return, which Emma knew meant that their Huntsman was bound to get an eyefull he couldn’t resist, and their foursome had returned to quietly finishing their meal.

Once they had eaten all they could hold, her parents were standing to go to open court where they would hear the needs and requests of the people for the rest of the morning, telling Emma to join them whenever her morning’s lesson was completed, when an emissary of a neighboring kingdom hurried into the kitchen, led by her “Uncle” Grumpy and his rather suspicious usual grumbling face. The young man appeared not in the least daunted by the dwarf’s inhospital introduction, however. He looked only at the King and Queen, bowing and breathlessly offering a quick apology for the interruption. Emma paused as well on her way back upstairs to her tutor, curious for any word of things beyond their borders - both hopeful for news of Killian’s mission and fearing it, as news might well mean trouble and explanation for why her note had remained unanswered. Ruby waited at her elbow, as if also alerted by some sixth sense to the import this man’s tidings could bear.

“Nonsense, my friend,” King David reassured the young man as he smiled understandingly and nodded for him to proceed. “You are quite alright, what news do you have for us?”

Emma, however, had taken note of the young man’s attire - the livery of her parents’ friends Eric and Ariel, King and Queen of the neighboring maritime kingdom - and her stomach flip-flopped sickeningly, the premonition that his news might pertain to her sailor’s well-being growing all the stronger.

The courier dipped his head in respectful acknowledgement once more, but as he actually began to speak, Emma noticed that he pulled the cap from his head and began to nervously twist the material in his hands as he proceeded, clearly reluctant to offer the tidings that were in store. Emma tried to steel herself for whatever might be coming, but the slithering nausea moving through her frame warned her she might have only limited success. 

“My Lord and Lady bid me notify your Highnesses of the occurrence witnessed off the shores of some uncharted islands near the Echoing Seas on our kingdom’s border, two nights hence,” the messenger began hesitantly. “As you well know, our Queen Ariel has familial connections and contacts in the acquatic world, far beyond the scope of which my king’s merely human scouts would ever possess. On the night in question, one of Queen Ariel’s own sisters was nearly swallowed by a sudden and unnatural whirlpool that came out of nowhere. As she just barely pulled herself from the undertow that would have dragged her to the very depths - dangerous even to mer-people, apparently - she saw a ship sucked into its vortex. She was reluctant to report, as you can imagine, knowing our leader’s friendship and allegiance with your Majesties, that she recognized Misthaven’s flags on the doomed ship, as well as numerous sailors onboard, fighting for their lives. According to Princess Arista, the entire vessel and all its visible passengers were subsumed within moments of the typhoon’s appearance.”

The young man’s head fell to stare at the floor as his report finished, knowing it was dire news to digest, and yet clearly well-trained enough to wait for a reply or further instructions, no matter how awkward. Emma felt herself struggling, gulping for air as she blindly stumbled to one of the kitchen stools they had vacated before she collapsed to the floor.  _ ‘No,’  _ her mind was repeating blankly,  _ ‘It cannot be...not Killian…’  _ even as a dizzying haze seemed to obstruct her senses, clouding her surroundings and setting up a dull roar in her ears that made all other sounds fade to a distant hum. Ruby was immediately at her side, a soothing hand stroking her hair like the woman had often done when Emma was small and woke from a nightmare, when the werewolf’s keen hearing made her godmother the only one aware and who always slipped through the silent and darkened halls of the castle to comfort her.

She knew her parents must be looking to her in concern as well - asking if she was alright - but with the strange echo resounding in her head she couldn’t hear them clearly. As the monarchs, obviously, they would be saddened for the loss of all aboard the ship, and would keenly feel the responsibility for each death, not just Killian’s. It had been an official mission, and as such her parents would bear a weighing burden, though they could have had no way of knowing such a tempest would appear.

After some long minutes of heavy silence, the emissary prompted gently, “Your Majesties? Will there be any reply?”

Her father spoke then, moving forward to shake the man’s hand and give him thanks for bringing them news so promptly and accurately, before rumors and falsehoods could spread. Though he spoke with the same calm assurance she had always known, there was a quaver of emotion in King David’s words that couldn’t be ignored for one who knew him as well as his only daughter. Though she was far from being clearly focused and taking in all that was being said around her, Emma knew from experience that he must be expressing their hope that he would return their gratitude and good will to Ariel and Eric, along with the hope that they would notify them of any further developments regarding the storm and its aftermath, and that the rider would partake of food and drink before returning to his own kingdom.

Once it seemed that the newcomer was leaving their presence, alone at last with only those loved ones she had known all her life, Emma slumped further in her seat, nearly boneless in the devastation attempting to spread throughout her being. Head in shaking hand, Emma tried to console herself, repeating that he must have escaped the ship sometime before “Auntie” Ariel’s sister saw the craft’s demise. He could not simply be gone from this earth and she feel no different. Surely she would have known…

However, just before the man exited the room, he turned back with a remembered afterthought. “One last thing, my lieges,” he added, almost sheepishly. “My Lord and Lady were unsure whether or not to include this supposition in their notification, as many outside our borders do not believe in the craven villain and view him as a mere character of legend and imagination, but rumors have been increasing for weeks now of more frequent and violent attacks from the sea demon Davy Jones. No one had died, merely property taken or destroyed and many frightened. But reports have been fragmented at best and wildly varied. We were uncertain whom to pursue, or how to accomplish the pursuit. But now King Eric seems resolved that it must indeed be Davy Jones. He and the Queen know of no other who could have whipped up such a sudden and powerful storm to swallow a ship in the blink of an eye. They are still debating how to rebuff future insurrections, but intend to answer his treachery. Take from that what you will.”

Emma had straightened in her seat as this last announcement was made. Her senses seemed to clear as she heard her mother thank their visitor this time with benevolent grace and ask him to assure his Queen that she would contact her soon, even as her capable hands prepared bread and cheese with some cakes for him to take before he did at last leave on his return journey. The princess’ will was somehow galvanized once more by the idea of Davy Jones’ scurrilous role in their ship being wrecked. It gave her something to cling to, right or wrong, in the knowledge that perhaps her love was not lost as the rest must believe. All who  _ did  _ believe Davy Jones and his cursed crew and ship existed, knew that they prowled the sea, taking ships and sailors as plunder, indenturing them to sail as additional ill-fated hands on his Flying Dutchman. Though it was horrific to contemplate, and she shuddered imagining Killian once more trapped and forced into servitude as he had been before they met, she drew some resolve from the knowledge that if he still existed somewhere, he could be found and rescued. She  _ would not rest  _ until she found a way.

~~***~~

As he continued to move through the dense vegetation, Killian was surprised at his own relatively calm thinking after all which had occurred, but he simply knew he had no choice but to keep his senses about him. True, his first instinct upon waking had been to scream and rail at the gods of sea and sky, shed tears for his lost comrades and lie down on the sand in defeat. Part of him still wanted to take off swimming frantically in hopes of reaching land, but going blindly without knowledge if there were any to reach was a futile fool’s errand. He must focus on what he  _ could  _ do if he were to survive.

If he explored the entire expanse of this seemingly uninhabited island, and found no lake or stream, he could try to boil the most of the salt from the ocean water over his firepit - but it would be a painstaking and continuous chore if it could be avoided. And so doggedly Killian moved toward the center of the island, further and further into the trees. He could only hope he wasn’t traveling further from the safety he had been provided so far, but he would not survive long in the heat and the elements without a potable water source. It was one of the first points of wilderness survival he had been taught in the case of shipwreck, marooning or capture. There was always the danger of unknown wildlife, injury on unfamiliar terrain, or becoming lost, but his sense of direction had always been admirable - it was one of the first things which had won him praise from commanding naval officers - and he really had no other recourse.

Soon he was blazing a trail through the low-hanging vines and branches, doing his best to slice brambles and brush from the way before him and create a path. If he did indeed find some freshwater pool or stream, he would want to have a clear way back and forth between it and his rough campsite. Killian was holding out hope that there must be something of the sort because there was such a wealth of greenery and growth; it had to be supported somehow.

The heat seemed to climb higher with every step; the humidity wrapping around him and seeping down his throat with a stifling heaviness, but Killian pressed on. He was in excellent health and fitness - his naval training had seen to that - but he still came to feel as though he had been plodding through this relative jungle for hours, his arms and feet burning and feeling heavier with every step, his light, loose shirt clinging to his torso with the sweat that ran over his skin, stinging in his eyes and the numerous cuts and scrapes he bore from the wreck.

He had just promised himself he would sit to catch his breath soon, when he broke through an especially dense stand of trees and scrub brush to hear the sound of rushing water and glimpse the light of sun off a liquid surface just ahead. Hurrying forward once more, rejuvenated in his excitement and relief, Killian broke through the canopy to find a pool fed by a small waterfall in an open clearing.

Thankful for the blessing in his stranded situation, Killian left the trees and rushed to the edge of the pool to throw himself on the ground and plunge his hands into the clear, calm water. Breathtakingly cold and bracing, Killian reveled in its refreshment, splashing it onto his face, his hair, the back of his neck before cupping his hands together to bring the water to his lips and drink greedily - one, two, and three times. 

Lying prone on the bank for a minute when he finished drinking, trying to cool off slightly and catch his breath, Killian closed his eyes, thanking God that he did find the fresh water he needed to press on. Now that he wasn’t moving, hacking and fighting through the dense growth, he could take a moment to feel the worry abate slightly and gather his resolve once again. For the moment, he at least had the jug on his belt to take some water back to his shelter, but he would search the beach again upon his return for any washed up wreckage, hopefully to yield him some larger bowl or pot, some container to hold more water from a trip to this clearing. He hated to be away from the shore for too long, knowing he also needed to start some sort of signal fire which could be seen by any passing ships out at sea, and he did not wish to miss any rescue vessel which might be sent to look for his ship and fellow sailors. Certainly he didn’t overvalue himself, but he did regret the knowledge that his princess would be worried for him. She had almost undoubtably already sent him messages he had not received, and she would be at a loss for why he had failed to respond.

Still, he would count himself grateful for this moment’s success and do what he could to find his way back to her. Rising to his knees, he pulled out his water skein and uncapped it to dip into the water and fill. As the lip of the bottle broke the surface, however, Killian felt a current run through his limbs, intense, but not unpleasant, instead calming and strangely peaceful. Looking over his shoulder and to both sides, he took stock of the forest he had left and the clearing all around him, but all remained as quiet and undisturbed as before.

Forcing himself not to succumb to flights of fantasy, Killian returned to his task with an inner admonishment against imagining things. Yet again, as soon as his fingers dipped into the water, he had the same enveloping impression that he was no longer alone, that a presence he had encountered before was somehow nearby. Out in the center of the pool, almost at the foot of the gentle waterfall, ripples began to spread in ever-widening circles, drawing always closer to the bank where he crouched warily.

It was then he picked up another sound, one that did not fit in with running water, rustling breezes, birdcall and the buzz of hovering insects. Once more, as it had the previous night when he’d nearly drowned, it sounded as though someone were singing. No one was around, and as before, common sense chided that it must be in his head, but the voice was so beautiful, so full of almost supernatural comfort, that it could not be ignored.

As he continued to watch the ripples widen, the pool’s surface was broken in their midst, some six or seven feet from him. Slowly, with liquid grace a head broke the water, followed by the shoulders, torso, and eventually the full form of an inexplicably familiar woman, who emerged from the depths fully and seemingly walked upon the water to stand before him with affectionate, beguiling smile.

Though anyone else observing the scene would have been struck immediately by the resemblance this lovely creature bore to Killian himself, the young lieutenant was a bit too stunned to recognize the uncanny similarities. She was slim and poised, dark hair the same shade as his streamed down her back to nearly reach her hips, and unique pointed tips to her ears also resembled Killian’s that Emma had so often tweaked and playfully joked about him being half an elf. Perhaps most remarkable of all though were her deep, oceanic blue eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, drinking him in as if Killian were every bit as awe-inducing to her as she was to him. Those eyes so like his own, made Killian swallow hard at how much the color and shape and the warmth of emotion in them as they studied him reminded him viscerally of Liam. 

_ What sorcery was this? Who was this being? And how did she come to be here? Why was she here before him?  _ So much was invading his mind at once that it took Killian several more beats to realize that her lips were moving, and only when they stopped did the song he had heard cease. She was the one singing the night before, the notes in his ear as he had been plucked from the murderous waves.

“You,” he breathed, blinking rapidly as he again found his voice. “You saved me. Why? And who… who are you?”

The look on that ethereal face turned unbearably sad. Her musical voice whispered brokenly, “Oh, my dear, I had feared you would forget. Don’t you know me, Killian? … I’m your mother.”

  
  



	4. Part Three

“My mother?” he questioned, voice hesitant and perplexed as he scrambled to stand and face the ethereal being who had stepped gracefully from the pool, and after just a moment appeared miraculously dry with not a hair out of place - as if she had never been underwater at all.

Killian blinked, half expecting her to disappear when his eyes reopened. When the beautiful nymph - for that was what she must be - still stood before him, watching curiously, he shook his head and wondered vaguely if he had hit it after all, either in the wreck or once washed to shore. “My mother died… long ago… when I was a mere babe, according to my father. It cannot be possible for you… that you… I mean…” Gesturing helplessly with awkward hands, Killian finally let his words trail off, beseeching her with a look to understand.

The mysterious lady’s eyes seemed to darken their blue shade with the sadness glistening in their depths. Shaking her head, she stepped closer, practically gliding over the ground between them. “Killian, my dear,” she crooned, her cool, soothing hand caressing his cheek with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. “There is so much you do not know…” she shook her head sadly, beckoning him to follow her to a spot in the shade of the trees around the clearing. “Come, let me explain. It has been kept from you long enough. And…” she swallowed some deep emotion. “I’ve waited so long to talk to you.”

Biting his tongue against more indignant and disbelieving outbursts, Killian found he was greatly comforted by the soft press of her fingers on his own, and followed her dutifully to a large, flat rock at the clearing’s edge and took a seat. He had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue and nearly as many rebuttals to her claim. Yet, he found he also wanted her to stay there - whoever or whatever she might be. He  _ needed  _ to know what she had to say.

When the woman’s large eyes turned to meet his again, she asked, “What do you remember of the time before you came to Misthaven?”

Running a hand back through his damp hair - dark like hers, in almost the same shade, he realized then - ruffling it up off his forehead and making it stand wildly on end, Killian shook his head at a loss. His hand fell back to his thigh with a slap as he shrugged and answered her with sheepish honesty. “I’m afraid you won’t gain much from my memory; it’s frighteningly blank beyond boarding a tall ship for some long journey with my father and my brother Liam. Then, somehow…” he shrugged again, knowing there should be more, but instead he had only ever found a mystifying blank. “Then my father is just…  _ gone _ . Liam and I were alone on that vessel, little better than slaves.” His eyes fell to studying his rough-calloused hands, as if he felt abruptly unworthy to meet her eyes. “We were trapped there for years, Captain said we had a debt to pay and we weren’t getting free until we did so. Never let us out of his sight when we docked, so we couldn’t run. It was too far to swim for freedom on some shore, even though we could both swim like seal pups.” A bitter and raw half-smile pulled up one side of his mouth in a crooked smile before he continued.

As if she could sense his hurt and the hesitation that plagued him, the lovely being reached out once more to take his hand in hers, rubbing cool, soft fingers over the back of it in comfort. She did not speak, nor try to press or hurry him, merely waited patiently for Killian to find his words and purge the rest of his story.

“Truth be told,” he finally sighed in resignation, “I would still be a servant to that wretched captain… if not for the storm…”

That serene face only stared back at him, listening kindly and conveying the sense that she understood - more than he could remember being understood before. Eyes as blue as his own looked deep beyond his outer appearance, the sadness at his suffering as clear as if she had spoken it aloud. Instead, she gave a gentle nod, and once more waited patiently.

“There was a storm at sea, some years ago now,” he finally pressed on, reaching the part of his tale that both lead to his greatest loss and his truest joy. “It blew up suddenly and many were washed overboard - Liam and I among them. I do not know if they left us purposefully, not worth the risk and effort, or if they genuinely couldn’t see us in the rough waters. At any rate, I do not know how I survived. Through what twist of fate I washed ashore in the kingdom of Misthaven when Liam did not, but that was where I woke. I was found by the princess, who was just about my age, taken in and nursed back to health by the royal family - unbelievable as it seems - and eventually I joined their navy. Only, it would appear, to be shipwrecked once again on my first mission as a lieutenant.”

Here the woman returned his rueful smile at the course that had shaped his life thus far. There were many details he had omitted - his love for Emma, and her for him, chief among them - but it seemed needless to prattle on. In fact, it was clear his mysterious companion was at last ready to speak.

Remorse was clear in the face entirely too beautiful and flawless to be fully human as she reached the hand not still holding his up to trace the scar on his cheek - made long ago by a sadistic bosun before a nine-year-old Liam had jumped between and taken the brunt of the punishment. Tenderness and wistful longing filled her gaze as she did so. Her voice was still mellifluous when she spoke, though soft and slightly broken with her emotion. “My son, what you’ve been through… it pains me more than I can say. The hardship you endured, the abandonment and mistreatment you suffered, none of it was anything like the life I wished for you and your brother when you were born. Such dreams I had for you both as we sat outside our little cottage, watching the tides roll in and little sandpipers running over the sand. Liam was so sweet, so attentive, bringing me seashells as I held you and sang lullabies, anxious to help you learn to swim and build sandcastles…”

She trailed off for a moment, her pearly white teeth pressing into her lower lip as she struggled to suppress a new swell of emotion before continuing. It was just as well. Killian’s mind was racing, hardly able to make sense of such idyllic, wonderful scenes of which he had not even the slightest recall. 

Her other hand fell to her lap and her fingers were pulled free of his as he lurched to his feet and began to pace with the unsettled agitation overtaking him. “Why do I remember none of this?!” he implored, his every breath bringing an emotional swing from anger to stark devastation and back. It was as though he had been robbed anew of the loving family and carefree childhood he had grown up missing - this time by the assertion that he had possessed such treasure once and could not even picture it. “If you truly are who you say,” he finally demanded, returning to the lovely, dark-haired woman and crouching to peer into her face once more. His fist tightened and then opened reflexively, his adamance on gaining some answers, some understanding, clear. “If you really are my mother… What happened all those years ago? Why did you leave us? Where were you when Liam and I were taken into servitude? Where have you been for all this time in between? … Why… why were we all alone in the world?”

He blinked rapidly, unwilling to show more weakness than his ragged question had already revealed. For the lost little boy who had never known his mother, who had never understood why he and his brother were surrendered to such a cruel fate, was still inside the grown lieutenant, but Killian could not let that broken child surface now, not when he might finally gain answers. His mouth was a firm line as he stared down this mysterious nymph; his eyes hard as he refused to let her look away.

A tear escaped her eye and ran down her porcelain cheek, a luminescent drop of liquid glowing brightly on its way. She was clearly suffering at the admission of his hurt, whatever else he might think of her. And when she spoke again, her voice was flinty and resolved; he could doubt her sincerity no longer. “Killian, I  _ am _ your mother. Whether you accept it or not, that is as much truth as the waves coming in to meet the shore. But your father - he beguiled me. He had more power - and more darkness - than I knew. He stole you boys, my dearest loves, from me. By the time I had located you once more, and made preparations to bring you both here to Ogygia for safety, it was too late. Liam had been lost to the depths - stolen forever where your father could keep him for himself eternally. And you had been taken in by the royals of Misthaven. I watched that evening as they found you, and I came back unseen to watch you many other times with your crewmates, your golden-headed princess… any glimpse I could steal of you as you grew up hearty, strong and brave - just as I always knew you would. It seemed unfair to make myself known then, to uproot you once more… not when you appeared so happy…” She searched his face as her words came together in dawning realization. “What that - Was I wrong?”

Overcome, Killian shook his head, not sure how to address his reply. Finally, he managed to murmur, “No, no you were not mistaken. They treated me as if I were their own. I was as happy as I have ever been…” His eyes seemed to be attempting to focus on something far back within his memory, long ago and leagues away. “But - “ he tried again, wetting his lips and plunging forward with his unbelievable question. “If all that is true, does that make… Is my father…?” He found he could not speak the ridiculous question his mind was urging him to ask.

She nodded instead, relieving him of it. “Yes, he is Davy Jones. And I am Calypso, daughter of Atlas.”

Killian knew his mouth must have fallen open, gaping at the woman before him, returning his gobsmacked look with nothing but open honesty. “Son, please believe me,” she urged, reaching for his hand once more. She nearly beamed with fragile-seeming hope when he dumbly allowed her to twine their fingers again. “I know it must seem like a lot to take in… a monstrous amount to believe on good faith, but I am telling you the truth. Never did I wish to be parted from you or your brother. I would never have left either of you by choice. That Liam is lost to us…” here she solemnly shook her head, bowing it over their joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles, “For that, I can only apologize that I was unable to save him. You must know that I tried, Killian.”

Slowly but surely the rushing sound that had taken over in his head, the pounding of his heart and the strange sense of hysteria which had very nearly enveloped him, began to ebb away. The hurt and doubt did not vanish - and he had so many questions for her that he hardly knew where to start - but the hardest knot of bitterness and anger in his chest eased, loosened enough that he could catch his breath and study this woman before him - _ his mother!  _ \- with a focus that brought acceptance, and even a sort of thrill. He had a mother, who loved him and wanted to know him. How could he in good conscience turn away? And if all she said was true, of which he felt all but certain, then she had already suffered just as he had. Why should he force either of them to bear anything more?

Leaning in, an uncertain, almost eager look transformed his face as he spoke in an awed whisper. “You searched for us?” he repeated, letting the comfort of it sink into his soul. “You tried to get us back? To save Liam?”

Tears were pouring down the sea nymph’s face now, to the point that she didn’t even speak, merely nodded vigorously and opened her arms wide to him in welcome.

“Mother,” he exhaled, and gave in. He could hold back no longer. Resting his head on her shoulder, Killian leaned into a maternal embrace of the sort he had been missing all his life. His shoulders hitched with silent weeping, letting out much that had been buried so deeply he had not even known it still pained him.

Gentle, soothing fingers ran through his hair, rubbed his back as she rocked back and forth gently, at last feeling completed to have her child back in her arms, grown though he might be. She let him purge the torrent of grief and fear, lightly humming a melody that eased him and that Killian felt vaguely he had heard somewhere before.

His mother! His mind could hardly grasp the revelation, and yet, she was there. He might still be shipwrecked and stranded - lost - but he was no longer alone.

~~***~~

Under cover of dark, the very night after they had received news that Killian’s ship was lost, Princess Emma was using the filtered light of the full moon to sneak from her apartments and down to the stables. She had listened all day as her mother and father spoke to their trusted inner circle, debating and considering if there were any possibility of even some of the ship’s crew having survived - and how they would go about seeking them in a rescue mission if the chance existed. Was it even possible to look for a ship that was by now shattered in pieces and likely sunk to the depths, invisible to their eyes? And yet, Queen Snow had interjected more than once, her boundless well of hope apparent, could they truly do otherwise when their adopted son and dozens of other loyal sailors might still live?

Her husband and their advisors agreed, and yet, there was the other practical concern that any search voyage might only be sending more innocent lives into a trap - a snare set by a supernatural foe they did not understand well enough to combat and survive. Eventually, all left the council chambers but the King and Queen, and Emma herself. It was then that they used a mirror - a magic one enchanted to allow them to communicate, which had been gifted to Snow by Ariel as a wedding present when she married her ‘Charming’. Using it, they contacted the maritime kingdom’s rulers for more information.

The news had been dire. Emma shivered even then, hours later, under her heavy riding cloak as she gingerly gripped the vine-covered trellis next to her balcony and swung out onto it, needing to climb down and cross the lawn to the stables undetected. The memory still haunted her, of Ariel explaining how legend had it that Davy Jones took any prisoners left alive aboard his phantom ship, eternally pressed into his cursed crew.

What it had boiled down to in the end was that they could not send more men out on a fruitless mission; not knowing where to send them, or even where they should begin, and especially not when most likely the only result would be their capture or death as well. All the same, Emma had felt hurt and betrayed on Killian’s behalf - despite the decision making logical sense. It was maddening that they would do nothing when Killian would have left no stone unturned, no island or inlet unsearched, if the roles were reversed and any of those who sat debating whether to search for him or not were lost. She had just barely managed to bite back such recriminations, knowing they were unfair, but she could not help storming from the meeting, unable to helplessly stand by any longer. She had heard her father gently urging her mother to let her go, to give her some time, and she had been in her rooms ever since. Not crying or grieving as most probably believed, but plotting her next move.

Though she had no evidence to back it up, Emma knew - simply knew it in her marrow, as sure as she felt her heart beat and her blood pound in her veins - that her lieutenant was out there somewhere alive. Just as she had since the first shock of the shipwreck’s announcement had worn off, she still believed that, were her sailor no longer in the world, she would be aware of the loss, the lacking in all that he left behind. There had been a link between she and Killian since he washed ashore and she found him all those years ago; in her deepest being, Emma felt it was because they were meant to be together, always destined, two halves of the same whole, just like her parents. She might not profess such girlish dreams aloud, but she harbored the belief nonetheless. And, since she had not felt the agony she would fully expect if he had been ripped from life, no inkling of the void she knew would split open her chest if he ceased to be, then he could still be found. It was as simple - and as much a challenge - as that.

It mattered not that she didn’t yet know where to go, she would be on her way before any could stop her or hold her back. She could chart a course from there. That afternoon as she had prepared and packed, the messenger bird she had sent out returned with her letter for Killian unopened on its leg. Yet, even that could not deter Emma. He could be somewhere the creature simply had not found. It didn’t mean… but she shook her head abruptly and refused to contemplate that possibility.

Alighting on the ground with a little hop, Emma glanced back up the ivy-trellised wall she had just descended, allowing a moment’s pride that no alarm had been rasied and none seemed the wiser. There was a fair dose of irony in the fact that she was now trying to steal away under cover of night to escape her parent’s watchful concern and protection, when it had been her mother, the Queen herself, who had first shown her how to make that scale down the outer walls in case they were ever under attack and Emma found herself in need of an alternate means of escape. Regardless of its original intention, the lesson had stuck, and the princess put her skills to good use. The cool wetness through her thin slippers brought a delicious sort of shiver up from her toes through her legs and the rest of her as she dashed across the already dew-kissed grass.

Upon entering the royal stables in a state of warm and cozily quiet peace - as if all inside were bedded down and drowsing for the night - Emma blew out a breath of relief. Her returning calm was encompassing enough that she gave a startled jump of surprise when her mare, Lady, whickered and bobbed her head to her in greeting.

“Hey there, Sweet,” Emma crooned, offering an apple to her beloved pet, her favorite mount since she first learned to ride as a little girl. Her father had given Lady to her when the mare was still a young colt, and they had been fast friends ever since. The horse playfully bowed her head to her mistress, nudging Princess Emma’s shoulder with her long velvety nose and munching the treat contentedly. As Emma’s fingers continued to scratch along the gentle creature’s forelock, she murmured soothing words and the horse seemed to almost nod in delight, bobbing her head and huffing approval with short snorts of air.

“Ready to go for a ride?” Emma continued, making quick work of saddle and bridle before leading Lady out of her stall and back towards the entry of the large main stable. It was as if the animal could indeed pick up the nervous excitement radiating from her rider; the sharp clopping of her hooves made quick staccato taps along the solid floor and seemed to mimic Emma’s ever-quickening pulse in her ears.

With one last glance around, making sure they were still undetected, the princess stepped into Lady’s stirrup, swung herself up onto the animal’s back, and gathered the reins in hand as she quickly doused the lantern she had lit in the hanging sconce just inside the large enclosure. Stealth was imperative, but now that she was in the clear, she would never risk a fire that could endanger the other horses, grooms and trainers. She would see well enough by moonlight once outdoors again.

A slight shudder ran through her as she glanced back at the castle over her shoulder once more. Lady trotted easily into the forest once Emma had found the gate watched by her uncle who was known for his habit of falling asleep at the most inopportune times. Slipping past him while he snored unawares, the going was easy and the path familiar from there.

Horse and rider made swift time, passing through the trees and down toward the harbor in nighttime shadows unmolested. When at last they neared the more rickety end of the docks where local fishermen and merchants kept their smaller sailboats and personal water crafts, Emma dismounted and moved toward one particular skiff, alone and completely abandoned, bobbing quietly on the gentle waves. At first glance, it appeared forgotten there without owner, but as Emma drew even with the small yet sturdy vessel, she could see it was just as she remembered - simple and unassuming certainly, but well-cared-for and more than adequate for her needs. 

With little time to waste, knowing it would not be long before her absence was discovered back at the palace, and she needed to be far enough out to sea by then so she would not be spotted or returned home by well-meaning rescuers who wished to see her safe even before having Killian found. She simply couldn’t agree with that logic - royal duty or no - and in the end it was  _ her  _ life. She stroked lovingly over her horse’s withers again, one last scruff at the velvet muzzle in affection, before murmuring, “Head on home now, girl. You know the way,” before removing bit and bridle and watching as the little mare nodded her head as if in understanding of the command, turned and trotted back the way they had come, hooves clipping first against the wooden planks of the pier, then the cobblestones of the street beyond, tail swishing as she moved further into the distance.

Puffing out a short breath, Princess Emma consoled herself with the fact that her horse did know the path back to the castle well, and that nothing untoward would befall her - especially not so early in the pre-dawn hours when the streets and forests were almost completely deserted. Urging herself back into motion, she loosed the ties holding the small craft to its place along the pier and hopped from the docks onto the boat deck without lingering any further. She allowed barely a moment of anxiety for the rush of concerns flooding her mind - tasks to bring the boat ‘round, set her on course, and guide her safely from the harbor and the proximity of other ships, pier and shore into open waters. She had no time to be timid; she knew what had to be done, had practiced and rehearsed it in her mind numerous times in the last few hours as she put her plan in motion. Now she simply had to follow through.

Luckily, the water was smooth and still, the wind with her, and the others vessels nearby safely anchored out of her path. With her mind on her route, eyes clear and hands steady, Emma was soon leaving the mouth of the harbor and gaining speed as the wind truly caught in the sails overhead. Her sailor had taught her well, and she was on her way to find him.


	5. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, the chapter count has gone up again! (Hope most of you won't mind too terribly! ;p)  
> Still, I can see the end in sight now!

_ Part Four _

Princess Emma had not been alone at sea for long when self-doubt and questions began to gnaw at her confidence and left her wondering if she should really have set out on her own. She was keeping the small vessel afloat and on course (she couldn’t wait to show Killian she really had been listening to his scattered lessons in their moments alone, even if she had been trying to steal glancing touches and quick glimpses at his unknowing features at the same time), but all the same, once the sun was overhead, beating down hot and unmercifully and she could see only unbroken ocean as far as the horizon in any direction, some of her fearless resolve left her. Why had she not tried to convince or bribe someone who knew more about navigation to come along? What if she were sailing further away from her beloved, instead of closer to him? How would she even get them back if she did locate Killian? What if he were hurt and she didn’t know how to help? She should have brought a healer!

The plaguing worries circled round and round, wreathing her head like a swarm of gnats, and Emma was unable to bat them away. Though she felt the gentle rhythm of the waves beneath her small craft, and knew that they were moving, there was no sign that she was closer to land - or any living thing at all. If she hadn’t been so desperate, so swept up in her emotions and determined recklessness, she would have brought more food and fresh drinking water than the couple of jugs and the bread and cheese she had grabbed. She could be out here for days or weeks, unable to find her way back - or to locate where Killian might be.

By the time the sun had fully risen, and she was well out of sight of Misthaven’s shore, and any other in any direction, Emma had worked herself into enough of a state that the adrenaline which had propelled her down the side of the castle walls, to the docks, and out to sea, was flagging in earnest and she sunk to the rough planks of her vessel, finally feeling the need for rest which had completely eluded her all the previous night. Despite that, she fought valiantly to keep her eyes open and to stay alert. She was sure she couldn’t even imagine all the danger she might face if she didn’t remain on her guard. Still, as time crawled forward, the steady rise and fall of the calm waters served to nearly rock her gently closer to slumber, her eyelids continually growing more and more weighted, until they fell closed and she leaned against the boat’s side in a doze.

For some time, the princess was lost to her surroundings, regaining the peace she had lost upon the moment she learned Killian was missing. But, ever-so-slowly, then gaining speed and clarity, images began to swirl in her mind’s eye, even as she slept. At first there were only blurs of color and flashes of hazy light, then the pictures playing in her head sharpened, allowing her to focus and understand.

Stirring fitfully, Emma began to wake, brought back to awareness by her effort to take in the vision as it came to her. When she clearly saw Killian, his dearly beloved face caught at her breath and caused her to shoot upright in excitement, she was fully roused once more. It seemed she was receiving some message - both not to give up as he still lived, just as her heart had known, and also as some guide to where he might be.

This Killian in her mind’s eye looked distinctly more bedraggled than she had ever seen him willing to appear in his uniform before - the material ripped and stained, and his hair half-dried and standing up in salt-clumped tufts. He walked along a beach strewn at intervals with pieces of what Emma knew must be his ship, and inwardly she cringed, knowing it would pain him to see it destroyed, and also at the thought of all the other lives which must be utterly lost as they had believed. Killian seemd completely alone in his surroundings. 

Emma noticed that the image before her was beginning to go hazy about the edges and fade, but she clung to it for every second she could, drinking in the view of him in a way she had never seen her straight-laced lieutenant before. A traitorous blush colored her cheeks as her eyes trailed along his bared collarbone from where he had removed his uniform jacket, and she itched to run her fingers along his forearms and feel the muscles she hadn’t been able to look at before on display from his rolled-up sleeves. She was almost ashamed to admit the way she was feasting on the view of his chest and the dark hair smattered generously across it. Emma had never seen his shirt fully opened like that since they had entered young adulthood; Killian was much too considerate of her station and sensibilities, plus self-conscious as well, to show off so much skin in her presence. Still, Emma could not seem to pull her gaze away, her palms sweating with the heat as she even imagined touching those unexplored planes of her sailor’s body.

When the image before her faded and re-formed, returning to her again in a slightly different setting, his reappearance nearly bowled her over. Killian wore no shirt at all; all tanned skin over strapping shoulders and darkly furred chest narrowing down to a trim waist. Though stained with dirt and sand, and ripped in places, Killian still wore the breeches and boots of his uniform as he fought his way through what looked like a jungle of island vegetation. Sweat trickled down his brow, and Emma wished desperately to be there at his side to wipe it away for him, to venture forward shoulder-to-shoulder toward whatever he was seeking.

Abruptly, he reached the end of the thick trees and undergrowth he had been fighting his way through, stumbling out of the dense tangle of leaves and vine into a large, quiet clearing, housing a calm, turquoise pool, green grass and a large rock near the water’s edge. It was a tranquil little oasis after the terrain Killian had just left behind, and Emma found herself wondering again just where this could be and how she might reach him there. In her vision, Killian hurried forward to the water’s edge, bringing hands up to splash his overheated face and neck then drinking greedily from his cupped hands as well.

As much as she wanted to linger there with him - in her mind, at least, if not in actual reality - this scene too began to disintegrate and vanish before Emma was ready. She strained her eyes to see him even a few seconds longer, or in hopes of another scene appearing, but soon all she could see was unending ocean and sky all around her once more. Rousing fully from the sort of trance she had entered at the vision’s arrival, Emma found that one thing did remain in the forefront of her awareness - as cearly and definitely as if it had been spelled out across her retinas.  _ ‘Ogygia,’ _ a quiet, melodious voice seemed to whisper impossibly in her ear, ‘ _ You may find him on Ogygia.’ _

Princess Emma’s brow furrowed, recognizing the name, but confused by the implication. She had studied folklore, legends, and mythology in her schooling - quite avidly in fact. It was was one of the few subjects that genuinely interested her, memory and understanding coming easily, and she remembered the place. But, Calypso’s island? It was real? And how was she to find it?

Even as she wondered this, the same voice which had whispered the name into her consciousness now spoke again, offering Emma direction she wordlessly followed, plotting her course as this unknown entity directed. Indeed, such impulsive trust might be folly. She might live to regret listening to the siren song that led her forward - if she lived at all and was not lost upon the rising waves. All the same, she had no other directions to follow, no other way of knowing how to seek her missing love, and, for good or ill, she sensed this being speaking to her so sweetly and with such gentle care, meant her no harm.

She carried on the way she had chosen; better to take action and face the resulting consequences than to simply bob along the surface indefinitely until hunger, thirst or exposure took her while she waited. That would do Killian no good, wherever this island was that he had landed upon, and it would bring her no closer to him. These efforts at steering in a fixed direction might. Keeping her gaze ever forward, searching the horizon hopefully as the surface glittered at the noonday touch of the blazing sun as though strewn by diamonds, Emma forced herself to calmly follow through, to listen and obey the continued calm voice, which now felt as though it lodged within her own chest, at home, a thrumming part of her, and welcome as such.

Though she knew thirst and exhaustion, and the heat that began to weigh on her head and shoulders like a heavy cloak, made the time seem longer, she still felt the strain. It seemed as though hours had passed when finally, at the furthest reach of her sight, Emma thought she could make out a piece of land, rising like a beautiful mirage from the ocean stretched before her. Blinking, she leaned forward, even as she slumped with relief against her vessel’s wooden side, praying she was not mistaken. 

_ ‘No, my dear,’ _ the soothing voice assured her, a subtle breath of cool air accompanying it as though the phantom blew by her ear on enchanted wings. _ ‘You’ve done it, Princess. Ogygia is straight ahead now.’ _

And with that, the mysterious presence which had served as her guiding companion was gone. As suddenly as it had appeared, Emma also knew in an instant it was with her no longer. 

Grateful all the same, she didn’t have it in her to be troubled. As this new shore drew ever closer, she felt a burst of endurance. She had no doubt now; she was about to look upon her sailor’s face again.

~~***~~

Killian, meanwhile, had been far from idle since his reunion with his mother, his purging of his grief and loss, and the long talk and reacquaintance they’d had after. When she had left him, Calypso (It was still nigh impossible to fathom (the goddess Calypso - his mother!) had vowed to return that evening so they could speak further, and he had made his way back to the beach where he’d washed ashore.

Though admittedly, Killian no longer felt as shaken, alone, or desperate as he had when first awaking on the strange spit of land, seemingly its own little world in the surrounding deep, he still intended to make his way back to his adopted home and kingdom. Not only was it his duty as a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, but he was the only surviving member of his ill-fated crew. How else could Misthaven’s royals and his fellow sailors’ loved ones know what had befallen them and pay their sacrificial struggle due homage? Beyond the demands of his honor, however, Killian also knew that his adopted family - monarchs though they might be and unworthy as he had always somewhat felt himself - would be grieving him along with his lost ship and comrades. And Emma… though he had long marveled at how it could be true, she loved him. He could see the depth of her feelings in her eyes as soon as she had confessed it at his departure. Perhaps it had always been there - even as they had played tag and crawled under the hedge to hide huddled together in the Royal Gardens, as they had curried their ponies after a ride and sloshed buckets of cold water at each other before they helped in the animals’ bathing, when they had watched Granny at her baking in the kitchens and Emma had nicked bits of chocolate or minced dates and offered him part of her prize with a gleam in her lively green gaze. He knew she would be mourning; her heartbreak on his account was nearly unbearable to consider. He knew that were he in her place, and he believed her lost, there would be no recovery. And that knowledge lent urgency to his actions.

Upon returning to the sandy shoreline, it had taken no time at all to salvage various wooden pieces and parts of the ship that he began to stack in a pile. Always able to make do resourcefully, Killian used shoots and vines in the surrounding vegetation to begin binding the boards together as he needed - working swiftly. It wasn’t long until he had fashioned a sturdy raft with a reasonably straight mainsail near the water’s edge. It was certainly no vessel like the one which had been lost to the stormy deep when he had landed on this beach, but he was both determined and impatient enough to take his chances. He also knew enough of the sea and of sailing to recognize that the tempest which had sunk Misthaven’s finest ship had been unnaturally malevolent - as if summoned with evil intent for their specific destruction. The strength and size of the ship in a gale such as that would have made no difference, and if one blew again as he attempted to find his way home, he would be every bit as lost, regardless of his craft. All things remaining as they should though, his makeshift vessel ought to prove seaworthy, despite not being much to look at.

As Killian had focused on his task, the time had slipped away almost without his notice. He obviously would never have left his mother after finding her again without speaking to her more and saying goodbye, but at the same time, he was anxious to be starting, to reach his princess’ side once more. So, when he fastened the last slat of wood in place, tying off the knot as securely as he possibly could, and stood to mop his brow, Killian was rather surprised to realize that the bright sun had slipped toward evening and he had not even started on his way back toward the lagoon where he had met Calypso that morning.

Just as he was wondering how to make his way there with the most haste, he felt the brush of a light breeze and sensed her presence nearby. He would have guessed that she needed to stay within water, but clearly that was not a requirement, as soon, soft, gentle fingers brushed over his shoulder like a refreshing trickle of cool water, and his mother appeared, unassumingly human, beside him.

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?” she murmured lightly, a tinge of melancholy in her sweetly hypnotic voice, but no judgement or condemnation, only the regret of one soon to be separated from her child.

Killian bobbed the briefest of stiff nods before turning his head to face her, reaching to take her hand in his own and press it tightly, only hoping he could make her understand. “I’m sorry, but… I must,” he replied huskily.

The unearthly grace bestowed her by her nature shone through in the benevolent smile she offered him, leaning in to brush a kiss upon his forehead, just as if he were still a little boy, a gesture barely remembered but immediately soothing. Her elegant fingertips caressed the faded scar running high across his cheekbone, as if having not been there to patch it when it happened, she wished to take it from him. “You love her,” she answered simply, “the Princess. And since you do, of course you wish to return to her.”

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, “I do.” He was grateful that she seemed to grasp his dilemma and did not blame him or begrudge him the choice he had to make. “And she loves me as well, wonder of wonders. I have no claim to court a Princess, but while she wants me, I will not fail her.”

“That is as it should be, my son,” Calypso assured, pulling him close to hug him once more to her chest. “But bear in mind that you are more worthy than you know - a sort of royalty in your own way…” She winked as she pulled back again to look him in the eyes with a mischeivous twinkle in her own. “You have never failed to be a man of honor, just as I would have wanted, just as your dear brother did all he knew to teach you, and so I knew you would desire to do no less. In fact, if you look out into the distance, you will see I have helped someone along on her way to you, making your raft rather unnecessary.”

Lightly placing her hands on his shoulders, his mother turned him to face out on the waves, where just at the horizon, he could see the sails of an oncoming ship appear. Still quite far out, it sailed closer with each passing moment - almost as if granted unnatural speed - but his heart genuinely leapt when the waning light caught the glint of gold atop the head of the form he could now see at the vessel’s wheel.  _ Emma! _

“Is that…?” he asked, gawking and struggling to believe it could be so. “Did you bring her?... But how…?” His curiosity and awe made the words trip over each other, but the grin that broke across his face unawares told Calypso all she needed to know.

Smiling back at her little boy, now a man grown, the sea nymph nodded sagely. “She was already on the water; I merely granted her eyes to see the way forward. This place is generally cloaked from outside discovery, to keep out Davy and his minions. But clearly, your Princess - this Emma of Misthaven - is bold and true and every bit as in love with you as you are her.”

Killian felt the warmth flooding his cheeks even beneath the growth of unshaven stubble as he dipped his head in slight embarrassment. Though it felt wonderful to hear confirmation from another of the glorious truth he had only very lately begun to accept, it was also a bit daunting to see that his feelings were so crystal clear, even to one he had just met. When he glanced back again, he could only smile at his mother, beaming from the joy in his heart at seeing his princess again and knowing she had not given in to despair. “Thank you,” he managed to croak through a throat tightly closing. “Truly. For saving me… and then for bringing her safely.”

As if allowing herself one last precious caress, Calypso brought her cooling hand to glide along her son’s forehead and brush aside the dark fringe of his hair. “You are most welcome, my love.” Her understanding smile barely wavered as she added quietly. “Now, go to her, as I know you wish to do.”

Killian caught his mother’s hand where it had come to rest at the side of his face, turning his head to kiss the center of her palm, squeezing it tightly in gratitude. Then, he gave her a bright, crooked smile before turning to dash down to the water’s edge, where Misthaven’s princess and her pilfered boat were drawing near.

~~***~~

Calypso lingered, looking on fondly as her son dashed into the tide when the boat reached the shallows. Despite the twinge in her own chest at the brief reunion she had been allowed drawing to a close, an indulgent smile still curved her full lips at how eagerly the Princess leaned over her little ship’s prow, trying to reach Killian sooner. She looked ready to dive in and swim to him if it would get her there faster.

Killian meanwhile had splashed into the gentle swells, nearly reaching the tiny craft where it bobbed on the waves. Water kicked up all around him, soaking his weathered clothing and flattening his hair to his skull, but none of that dampened his thrilled exuberance in the slightest. He was waist-deep when, lungeing forward, he caught the side of Emma’s boat, hauling it forward on the next rise, and then Emma was catapaulting over the edge and into his arms with a cry of delight that couldn’t help but warm the watching sea nymph’s weary soul.

Yes, all was as it should be again. Seeing the two reunited made their belonging to each other undeniable. Somehow, even in the ebb and flow around them, Killian kept his feet - barely - as Emma wrapped herself around him tightly, her hair whipping hin the breeze and hiding their faces behind its curtain as they placed frantic kisses all across each other’s cheeks and noses, and her royal gown trailed unheeded behind her in the water. Their lips broke from each other’s only to laugh in stunned joy and exclaim fragmented greetings, their voices overlapping each other front he soft echoes of the sound Calyps could catch on the wind from where she stood.

Joining hands, they began to tow the boat in the rest of the way to shore, each of their free hands holding to a side. However, about the time the water was only lapping at their calves, a larger swell swept up behind them, sending the boat knocking into them with force, and both Killian and Emma tumbling headlong into the water. 

Coming up spluttering and laughing harder, they merely caught their tiny craft once more as it bobbed nearby, and carried on cavorting and splashing each other with more quick kisses and caresses stolen in youthful bliss at being together again. And in some ways, in that moment they were more free together than ever before; free of conventions, rules, propriety and disapproving stares. It was then, with that lovely, bone-deep happiness to remember on his face, that Calypso slipped away as well, leaving them to their well-earned privacy and celebration, darting and playing in the sand and foam.

She could give them this moment in her protected haven; wished truly that they could stay forever with her. But they could not remain hidden on Ogygia indefinitely; both had a destiny to fulfill back in Misthaven and too much sense of their duty to shirk it. The goddess could only hope fervently that their worst trial was now behind them - even if her better judgement warned her that Davy Jones would not yet be ready to admit that his second son had escaped his grasp.


End file.
